Argh Monday

Day 8. 114 pages, 49,902 words.

Overslept this morning and was left with barely an hour of writing time before I had to come to work. Still, I guess I needed the sleep after the weekend. As mentioned, the weekend went well.

As I have not yet mentioned, the weekend also involved a pub quiz. I didn’t get a chance to scan it and may do so later, but it was fun. And this time, after many trials and tribulations and frustrations, our boy Mr. BRKN won the day. Scraping past with 11 points, to beat Kristiina’s 9.

His prize was a magnificent limited-edition variant cover version of Molran, or as I had redubbed it, Molran: A Tale of the Final Fall of Man and Sexy Times in Space.

In the style of Spider-Woman variant covers (and we’ve all talked about them before on this blog…), I asked the vastly talented and humorous M.A. “Cat Protocol” Tyrskyluoto to create a variant that was hilariously sexually exploitative and sleazy. We settled on a scene from one of the editors’ favourites in the book: Waffa and Contro “looking for toffee” in the transpersion core.

"Ha ha ha! Honestly!"

I sent sketches and descriptions to Cat, and we fine-tuned this a bit. I think Contro is a little more manly and rugged than he would actually look, but this was because Cat tried the picture with as-is Contro and the whole thing suddenly looked super child-molesty. So this was the beautiful compromise.

Amazing work. I am only including the image here, where the cover also included the title and stuff. Obviously.

It is also worth noting that, had anyone actually read the note at the end of Molran, they could easily have won the quiz. The first page is multiple choice and you can score 15 points there, and the second page has four bonus questions that are short-answer. Two points each for an easy 8 points. Add a couple of points from the multiple choice section (which most people who take the quiz get by just guessing[1]), and you would easily have beaten the pathetic[2] 11-point winning score.

[1] There’s usually a clear cut-off, with most quiz-takers getting between 2 and 4 points (props to Bella this time around for getting 5, despite only being on Drednanth right now) and the editors getting between 9 and 12.

[2] Did I stutter?

Anyway, this time around I had put the answers to the bonus section inside the note at the end of the book. Anyone could have found them.

Hopefully this will keep people on their toes for next time.

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The Sunday After

Day 7. 107 pages, 46,405 words.

Didn’t get many photos, sadly, but it was a grand evening as ever. We had a fairly big crowd at Bar Äijä’s, all the copies of Molran sold, and a considerable amount of food and drink was consumed.

Macarena was danced for some reason, once we got the TV and YouTube up and running again.

Terrible puns were engaged in, courtesy of Gerry, Brendan and The Virk.

There were bagpipes.

The Pas took a couple of turns behind the bar and didn’t make too horrible a mess of things, although he did make Eric an attempted Long Island Iced Tea that turned out to have sake and fireball and a bunch of mystery ingredients in it. We dubbed it “the Three Mile Island Iced Tea”.

The Pas also managed to become, and remain, Chief Wizard. Pic related.

And we added another victim to the “I hate kids, I never want to have kids … but your kids…” brigade. Another triumph for Wump and Toop.

There was a certain amount of tattoo pen use, some chalk drawing, and much silliness. The Pas, Jean and Kate took a taxi at 04:30am, and I finally fell into bed. The kids were good enough to sleep until 10:00am.

Good times.

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Let’s Get Bat-Headed

Day 6. 102 pages, 42,801 words.

Ugh, thundery weather all day, unpleasantly overcast, no time to drink coffee this morning, splitting headache. Had to go to the shops again to get a few last-minute things, and am now cleaning up the bar with Wump’s help, getting ready for the party tonight.

With luck, photos and report to come.

Had a bizarre dream this morning, about the old beach house at Dunsborough. Except there was a big tall cornfield between the house and the beach. A bunch of deer (2-3 does, 1 buck) came down to the corn, and one stepped into the edge of the field, and vanished, as if she’d fallen into a hole.

Then the buck went in, and there was a lot of thrashing and crashing, and then there was an alligator. Big enough to carry the deer (and they were big deer) in its mouth, easily 40 feet long. Came crashing out of the corn and fought the deer. Or, you know, ate them like popcorn.

That’s about when I woke up.

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Friday Blog Entry (Type E)

Day 5. 93 pages, 38,189 words.

A quiet week at the office, with almost everyone on summer holiday.

Book release party tomorrow evening at Bar Äijä’s.

The Internet didn’t lose its mind particularly hard about anything this week, except US-First-Lady hopeful Mrs. Trump plagiarised US-First-Lady hopeful-at-the-time-I-think Mrs. Obama’s speech. She could have tried for a “history repeating itself” style homage, but she’s a Trump so probably thinks homage is the shipname for Homer and Marge Simpson.

That is all.

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Day 4. 79 pages, 30,844 words.

Another quiet day, but unfortunately too much to do at work to get more than my new style cut-down blog post done. I did get up early and do some writing though.

I also paid some bills. I wouldn’t normally bother mentioning this, but after I pay bills online I clear my history in a lazy security measure. Even though I preserve most of my Facebook and Gmail and Hatstand login details, I am often signed out as a result, and that’s fine.

Lately, though, I also get a “new login” warning from Twitter. I tend to ignore it because hey, it’s just me. Today, though, I got a weird e-mail from “CoPromote”, saying my Twitter account had been disconnected, and to follow a link to reconnect it.

Yeah, so no way am I following a strange link. Instead I got on Twitter on my phone. And this hilarious exchange happened.

Oh CoPromote. You so intrusive.

So this was amusing.


I still don’t really know who CoPromote are, but they’re certainly responsive.

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Wednesday giggles

Day 3. 67 pages, 25,229 words.

Not a lot to add here. Mrs. Hatboy, Wump and Toop returned yesterday, which is nice. It’s quiet at work with everyone on holiday, I’m fixing up what I can and waiting for the August Panic to begin. Winter is coomin, and all that.


An amusing Facebook interlude never goes astray.

That’s all for now.

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Ol’ George

Day 2. 60 pages, 22,732 words.

On Sunday I received word from back over in Australia that my old bagpiping mentor, George McClelland, had died.

George was a nice bloke, who taught me the basics of piping. I started a year later than the other guys in my class, due to the fact that I’d spent 1991 in New Zealand. George got me all caught up. He retired a year into my training in 1992, and Norm DeGrussa[1] took over to get me to the championship-grade “A Team” elite in my final year at school. But George was the one who taught me.

[1] I had no idea there was a website where you could rate teachers. Holy actual shit, Internet. Also, wow, I have no idea who David Coughlan is, must’ve been after my time, but they sure seem to hate him. And OH LOOK, my brother is there and he has a shit-ton more ratings than anyone else and he fucking aced them, despite the occasional rotten tomato. Not the least bit surprising[2].

[2] “Always on time for class because he never leaves the school. School is love, school is life.” LOL. And “Mr. Hindle is a very interesting man. He will often criticize students for his own enjoyment, and has been described by students as “uncontrollable” and “an ape of a man”…” Bwahahahaha! Oh, oh, and this one: “Good bloke means well but a bit creepy how [h]is only friends are kids. He thinks he is a child and he is probably a child predator. Good teacher if you are a favourite or a rower but otherwise don’t fall for the lollies!!!” …wow. Okay, back to the tribute.

Then, when I left school and joined Perth Highland Pipe Band, it was George again (he’d retired from the school, but since Perth Highland was a band dominantly fed new players by the boys graduating from the same school, he was a long-time member there). He helped me (and my good friend Mister B) get all caught up again, this time on the new tunes in the Perth Highland repertoire that we hadn’t learned in our years in the Scotch College Pipe Band.

George was one of the founding members of Scotch College Pipe Band when it was formed in 1947. He served as school Bandmaster from 1977 to 1992, and after that was honorary President of the Pipe Band Association of Western Australia. But that’s just stats.

A warm and genuinely lovable guy with a great sense of humour and a passion for music, and a natural ability to pass that gift on to later generations. That’s how I remember him.

So long, George. The world is a better – and way, way noisier – place thanks to your presence in it.

Posted in Kussa mun hopoti?, The Chucky Report | Tagged , , , , | 15 Comments